The Sound of Melodies
by A Paper Moon
Summary: It is his way of telling her everthing he is afraid to say. La Corda D'oro: A One-Shot. Tsukimori Len and Hino Kahoko.


A one-shot surrounding Hino Kahoko and Tsukimori Len. This takes place a few years after the competition—both characters are in their early twenties. The rest is up to your imagination. If you have any questions, comments, or concerns, feel free to PM me. Also, if I have any errors in names, places, spelling and/or grammatical issues, please **let me know**.

**Disclaimer: **Any and all characters from _La Corda D'oro: Primo Passo _do not belong to me. They are the property of the amazingly talented, Kure Yuki-san. I do not own the song _Sound of Melodies_. No, that belongs to Leeland.

Please enjoy. :D

-

_the sound _**of melodies**

**-**

_We, who were called to be Your people.  
__Struggling, sinners and thieves.  
__We're lifted up from the ashes,  
__And out came to the song of the redeemed.  
__The song of the redeemed.  
__Can You hear the sound of melodies,  
__Oh, the sound of melodies?  
__Rising up to You, rising up to You, God.  
__The sound of the melodies, oh, the sound of melodies,  
__Rising up to You, rising up to You, God._

-

The soft sound of whimpering echos in the large, dressing room. Lit only by the dimming bulbs surrounding a vanity, it is hard to see who exactly is crying. From a speaker in the top corner, the sound of applause whistles through, the static in the background making the noise hardly discernible. But she knows what they're cheering for: _Her_. They have come from miles around, by trains, planes, and automobiles, to hear the virtuoso grace them with her simple yet eloquent playing. The playing that had blossomed upon the roof of her old school; the sound that had grown from a wish and desire and a bit of fairy's magic. She had thrown her heart into that competition and, even though she hadn't won, she felt as if a new part of her had been born.

Now though, with the audience waiting, she can't find that passion. She searches but comes up empty-handed. Clutching her violin close to her chest, she sobs beneath the fading lights. Tears roll down flushed cheeks and her body is shaking. It's not quite stage fright, per say, that grips her so tightly. It is deeper; harder to explain. It is a pain, a trepidation of sorts, that surrounds her heart—failure? No, that's not quite right.

A knock upon her door startles the woman and the grasp on her instrument tightens dangerously. Wiping at her face, she stands hesitantly, placing on hand atop the vanity. A muffled voice is speaking from the other side but she isn't concentrating on that. She understands that they are calling for her; it is time to play. The applause grows louder. Her heartbeat quickens. Another knock, a few muddled words, and the sound of footsteps quietly disappear.

She looks at herself—the reflection of a hallow musician; eyes glassy and red-rimmed. Her once-tidy bun has spilled out and the coral dress she wears has become wrinkled. She is a mess. The one golden string winks at her in either mockery or condolence—she can't tell. Since the end of the competition—the separation of their group—she has felt empty inside. Every one took off to their own individual futures. From gaining professional musicianship, to teaching, to becoming free-lancers, each person left but... she didn't. She stayed, continued schooling while they pursued promising careers. They left her behind and she would always be running after them, their silhouettes fading into a blinding light.

The speaker is almost groaning in protest at the expanding sounds from the theater. They are vocally calling for her now; she has to go. Yet, as she takes a step forward, the same constricting feeling engulfs her.

Their smiling faces, their voices, shouting at her to hurry up and catch them. It is all causing her to become prey to this mix of emotions. One hand, more pale and elegant than the others, is in front of her, palm up, fingers outstretched. Though the other figures are being pulled away, this one is staying close. Her eyes follow the smooth contours of fingertips, knuckles, wrist, up the clothed arm to sturdy shoulders and the swoop of a collar bone, past the fragile-looking column of a fair neck and strong jaw, pausing slightly at thin, pink lips, over an aristocratic nose, to two fiery, amber eyes, their gaze deep and intense. As she stares, mesmerized by the man before her, she can faintly detect a gentle noise. It is peaceful, legato, and lulls her into a sense of security.

She blinks and he is gone but the sound is not. The last reverberations cease and the erupting applause is almost deafening, even through the old speaker. It takes a few moments but, eventually, the clapping quiets down. A deep voice is speaking now but the darn intercom is far beyond incoherent sounds that she can't understand it. Then, she hears it.

"...Hino Kahoko."

That—that's her name. And that voice... it's _him._

There is a pause again—he must be readjusting his instrument—and then the room is filled to the brim with a tune so familiar to her that it pulls at her heartstrings with an unmentionable force. They've played it together before—at the retreat; him atop a balcony, her below. It tugs at her and she grabs her bow. Opening the door, she walks cautiously down the hall, past a stagehand, to the ruby-curtains. He's standing in the center of the stage, his eyes closed and his body precariously perched near the edge.

She nestles the shoulder rest in the juncture between her neck and jaw. Her right hand clutches at the mahogany-bow while she brings it gingerly to lay upon the strings; three silver, one gold. Eye lids become heavy and they close—she needn't look at her violin now, the song is so brightly burned into her mind. With a deep breath, she positions her fingers and pulls the horse-haired stick gently.

His eyes immediately snap open at the accompanying sound. He turns to her and takes in her appearance. Sensing him, she opens her eyes and their gazes lock. She cracks a small smile his way as she walks towards him. He returns the gesture but it's hard to see—well, not for her. They play together, though the music appears to be coming from one instrument. They are now mere feet apart, their arms moving in unison.

Soon, it's over and the audience is on their feet, hands coming together fervently. Both musicians stand still, their violins still raised, their bows hanging daintily by their sides. It's a few minutes before either realize that they are indeed on stage. He is the first to break eye contact and he spins to face the applause. He slips his bow into his other hand and then gestures to the woman beside him. Catching on, she drops into a quick and shallow curtsy, stands, and holds her left hand out for him. He grabs it—unpredicted by her—and the two bow.

As they rise, she looks at him quizzically. He gives her a small smile and whispers, "I thought you could use a bit of help. You're always useless without me."

She resists the urge to laugh thinking, _'Of course, Tsukimori-kun, of course.' _

Both know it but they refuse to voice it. A light blush powders his cheeks and her face follows suit. Their hands are still joined but neither makes a move to change that. It's unnecessary and would create too much of fuss for either of them. Tomorrow, they'll point accusatory fingers at one another but, for now, they're okay. They've always been okay, as long as they have each other.

A new image enters her mind; this one of two violinists standing upon a grandeur stage, hands clasped together. No other musicians are there—they left long ago. It's just them and really, it's all she needs. The stranglehold on her heart has lightened and she feels as if she can truly breathe.

She's heard it; the comforting resonation, the consoling hum. The music he—no, _they_ play: the sound of melodies and, right now, that's all she needs.

-

_Oh, we have caught a revelation,  
__That nothing, can separate us from,  
__The love we received through salvation,  
__It fills your daughters and sons, your daughters and sons.  
__Can You hear the sound of melodies,  
__Oh, the sound of melodies?  
__Rising up to You, rising up to You, God.  
__The sound of the melodies, oh, the sound of melodies,  
__Rising up to You, rising up to You, God. _

- Sound of Melodies|**Leeland**

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Drop a review if you have the time. Grazie.


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